


The Adults Are Talking

by leftofthehorizon



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake-centric, Whump, tim/kon if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftofthehorizon/pseuds/leftofthehorizon
Summary: Tim tries not to let it get to him. He really does. But if there really was an end-of-the-rope for his ability to handle Damian, he was getting damn close to it.But he really is trying. Dear lord is he trying.Tim and Damian are kidnapped while out on patrol. How long before he reaches his breaking point?
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 130
Kudos: 502





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after the Strokes' song of the same name.

Tim un-straightened his tie. It was a habit he'd picked up from Jason back when they were strangers brushing suit shoulders at galas and not brother-heros half-heartedly trying to kill each other. That thought sat a little uncomfortably in Tim's throat. He looked himself over in the mirror one more time and, finding himself sufficiently disheveled, turned back out into the hall.

It wasn't really a fair description these days, he decided, as he dodged the light shining out from the ballroom. Jason hadn't really tried to kill him for a good couple of years now. Maybe they half-heartedly  _ saved _ each other's lives now?  _ God that was kitschy _ . Coexisted?  _ Too friendly sounding _ . Ignored each other from their separate apartments? 

Tim bit the corner of his bottom lip. That last one was more like it. Its uncomfortability was emphasized by the way he was slinking around outside the gala's bathrooms like the trespassing child he used to idolize. He made a mental note to try and stop by Jason’s more, whether he liked it or not. To be honest, they could both use the company. 

"Tim? Are you hiding back here?"

Oh great. Fantastic. The absolute last person he wanted to see right now. 

Tim thought he would have been able to avoid Dick at a party of this size, and for the most part he’d been right, if only by faith luck and pixie dust. With Bruce recently unstuck-from-time his oldest son had been enlisted to help him play the weepy, recently reunited family member and up the kidnapping cover story (or whatever they’d decided on, Tim was only briefed on the story on the way into the gala and, admittedly, he hadn’t been listening all that closely). They’d traipsed off into the sea of people as soon as the four of them had arrived, taking Damian with them and leaving Tim alone to awkwardly socialize with tipsy adults he’d met a decade ago.

It was all well enough though. He was still a bit trapped in the flood of emotions that came with being seventeen, recently fired by your brother, called crazy and then proved not crazy by bringing your ‘dad’ back from the ‘dead’. Not to mention his barely healed organ loss or the fact that these days Damian seemed to exist with the sole goal of rubbing salt in both his physical and psychological wounds. But he was doing fine, really, pinky promise. He kicked at the springy metal door stopper and watched it  _ twaaanngg  _ back into place, hoping Dick would forget he was looking for him. Forget about him entirely actually. Just leave him to die in peace alone back here like he’d always-

Dick rounded the corner, breaking out into a grin when he saw Tim scruffing his dress shoes by the bathrooms. "Oh good, you're still here! We were looking everywhere for you; I thought you might have left early."

Tim was halfway through faking a smile when he caught it, "We?"

Damian answered the question by existing, following Dick's shadow out of the ballroom, backlit dramatically like a yet-to-be-revealed villian in a cheesy horror film. "Your tie is crooked Drake. I'd have expected more from one actually raised with the sole ambition of looking professional." 

Of course. Tim’s fake smile turned into an involuntary sneer as his upper lip twitched back like a gag reflex for people who existed just to get on his nerves. "What's your point? You can't even tie a tie on your own."

"I can!" Damian straightened his posture in a way that would only seem threatening to someone who fights for a living, his eyes already wide with preemptive anger, " and even if I couldn't Father would have taught  _ me _ correctly."

Dick's grin was gone. He glanced between the two of them as they spat at each other, weighing his options. He sighed, "Tim... there's only a half hour left. Can you just not provoke him for thirty minutes?"

"Me provoke him?!" He bit the argument curling in the back of his throat, digging his fingernails sharply into his palms. He could already see Dick's eyes glazing over as he turned to semi-scold the goddamn murderous golden child. Tim let out a breath and unfurled his fists. "You know what, fuck this I'm going home." He turned.

“Tim- Dami hold on. Tim!” Dick called after him, but didn’t follow. Tim reinserted his fingernails into the crescent indentations on his palms. “Tim don’t do this please he’s just a kid-”

“I am  _ not _ just a-”

“How is he  _ just _ a kid still?! After everything he’s done!” 

Dick furrowed his brows, stepping closer to speak in a stage whisper as their argument turned heads at the edge of the ballroom, “Don’t do this here,” He’d put on a pseudo-batman voice that was probably meant to intimidate the two of them, but succeeded only in making anger flare tight in the back of Tim’s throat. 

He gritted his teeth, “If he’s just a kid how come he took nightshift huh? Don’t you think that’s a bit intense for  _ just a kid _ Dick?” Dick’s eyes widened. Shit. Tim knew that was too far as soon as he’d said it.  _ Shit. _ A heavy bead of anxiety settled in his chest.  **_Shit._ **

“ _ -tt-”  _ Damian on the other hand, now looked  _ delighted _ , “What a pathetic argument to resort to. As if I was not already more qualified that you will ever be,” He sneered, “All I have heard is that you still view me as a threat: a compliment that, unfortunately I cannot return to to such an insignificant-”

“Enough.”

_ Bruce. _

All of their heads snapped to attention. It was almost funny, Tim thought, despite anything else, Robin instincts run deep. If an outside observer watched B snap from Brucie to Batman like that you could almost understand the “ _ Bruce Wayne exposed as abusive father? What really happened to Jason Todd??” _ tabloids that popped up every couple of years.

“Both of you, outside  _ now, _ ” He didn’t have to ask twice. Well, Tim was halfway out already so he really didn’t even need to ask  _ him _ once. That being said, chances were this wasn’t going to be a jaunty,  _ everyone can just go home after the argument _ type of conversation. He chewed on his bottom lip, letting the door swing into Dick’s shoulder behind him.  _ Little victories. _

His brothers followed him out the exit he’d been trying to leave through in the first place, and turned to face Bruce who despite wearing perhaps his gaudiest of suits still managed to look impressively intimidating. The scene really was a bit hilarious, the heirs of the Wayne legacy grouped in an awkwardly formal semi-circle in the back alley behind the venue. Dick stood between Tim and Damian, acting as a human buffer for the glares Damian was presumably shooting Tim’s way. 

Bruce sighed, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two of you wanted to be benched for the foreseeable future.”

Tim felt his stomach drop.  _ God anything but that, it’s all I’ve got left _ . He swallowed partially to maintain composure and partially because his throat had become mysteriously dry. He ran through a couple of options: stay benched and lose himself to his encroaching depression; pull the “I’m an emancipated minor” card and go out anyway; fall to his knees and start begging?

He took a measured breath. All terrible options. Tim was many things. An insomniac? Of course. Sarcastic? To a fault. But he wasn’t an idiot. And all of those plans were idiotic. Fortunately:

“No- I-... Father!”

_ Right on cue _ .

“It is unjust that I would be punished for Drake’s inability to have a simple conversation without taking offense!”

Tim bit his tongue, literally bit his tongue, drawing beads of metallic blood into his mouth. This was perfect. Now with any luck B would take the bait…

“What I’m more concerned with is that somehow  _ both  _ of you thought it was acceptable to argue about patrol in front of multiple hundreds of witnesses.”

_ Damnit _

Apparently Tim had run out of pixie dust earlier that evening. 

“B, I-”

“Enough.” Bruce rubbed at the corner where his eye met his temple, and Tim fect a pang of guilt for the headache he’d somehow been roped into causing, “I’m not benching you. There’s no point if neither of you would listen, and I think it’s fair to assume neither of you were planning on helping Alfred clean house in lieu of patrol for the next couple of weeks.”

Tim maintained his steady eye contact with the white accents of Bruce’s dress shoes.

“Working against each other  _ both of you _ are a detriment to the team,” Bruce continued, “and frankly, I am willing to put in neither the time nor the effort into policing two of you at once. So, until you learn to be civil with one another you will do it yourselves. You’ll be patrolling together until further notice. Go suit up.”

Tim’s head shot up as Damian stepped forward, visible to Tim now for the first time since their lecture had begun. He looked remarkably like a miniature businessman, his brows knit together in frustration, “Father, I cannot be the only one to think that a simpler solution would be to make  _ cuts _ regarding the involved personnel,” He gave a pointed glance past Dick’s outstretched arm. 

Tim scoffed, his eyes flicking between father and son, “Wow asshole I may not like you but I never told them to  _ cut you from the team _ . Way to be a team player yaknow?” He decided against giving Dick the pointed look that he definitely deserved. 

He seemed to get the message anyhow though, stiffening slightly in Tim's periphery. Damian continued on however, either unaware of or, more likely, unconcerned with the tension thickening the air around them. “This is exactly my point,” his voice was measured, a perfect, albeit younger, imitation of his father’s, “It would be fruitless of me to try to convince you that Drake has no value as a technician, or even in combat. But if he is truly so insecure as to be throwing petty jabs, after all the training he has, at what point is he a  _ lost cause _ .”

Tim gritted his teeth, sucking blood from the puncture in his tongue. A swirl of conflicting emotions yanked at the void in his chest. What he really wanted to do was scream. Shout at Dick and Bruce and Damian until his throat was raw and they understood just how goddamn unfair all of this always was. And why always to him? Tim spent a lot of time trying to tell himself that, no, he wasn't just supplementary, they really needed him, they wanted him there even. But good lord if it didn't seem like everyone was constantly trying to prove his anxieties right. 

He swallowed again, his dry throat catching on even drier patches on the back of his tongue. No. They needed him. Maybe just as a failsafe, but they  _ needed _ him. He couldn't get himself kicked off for something as inconsequential as his  _ feelings _ . As much as it pained him, Damian was right about that. 

And so he said nothing. 

The quiet was tangible as Bruce glanced between them, his gaze lingering on each uncomfortably. Tim made an effort to maintain both the eye contact, and the personal firewall he had between his face and his emotions. But he could feel his nails digging back into their bloody sheaths in his palms. Bruce was smart enough to know.

“Tim would you mind helping Alfred get the car ready?” 

_ He’d failed _ . 

Tim took a measured breath, letting his eyes fall back down to examine the asphalt, “Sure.”

He turned on his heel,  _ not too quickly can’t let them see, _ and just made it around the corner before he broke. It was slight, maybe imperceptible even, but he could feel it: the hitch in his chest when he breathed, the autonomous tug downward at the corner of his mouth. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be  _ past  _ this kind of reaction. 

The alley broke way into the main road, blocked off for the event Bruce had been headlining before they’d dragged him out into the dusk with their whining. Of course Alfred had already pulled the car around and had it sitting with his hazards on by the front entrance. The butler’s eyes brightened as Tim approached the backseat, though his apologetic expression suggested he was well aware of the circumstances.

“Master Tim, I trust the others will be following you shortly? It’s my understanding that you and Mater Damain are to leave a bit early tonight. Prior engagements.”

It was all he could do to nod, looking back to see Dick walking out behind him, followed slowly by Bruce and Damian in a hushed argument. 

They were just too far for him to hear them.  _ Oh god _ he  _ really _ didn’t want to hear them right now, regardless of which side Bruce had ended up taking.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to a  _ non-bat _ . 

Tim was calling Kon before he'd even made it into the car. He fumbled with the seatbelt, balancing his cellphone precariously between his ear and shoulder, clicking it in just as Kon's muffled " mmh? H'llo?" interrupted the quiet ringing.

"Are you asleep? It's like eight pm dude."

Kon yawned, "Well not all of us can get by on three hours a night," There was a quiet shuffling, then the click of a light, "What's up man? Everything okay?"

He paused, glancing at Damian still trying to argue with Bruce outside. Dick looked over, meeting his eyes momentarily before Tim looked down, suddenly intent on cataloging the lint on his dress pants. 

"Tim?" Concern bled through the tiredness in Kon's voice now.

"I'm fine. It's fine, just..." he picked at a loose thread above his knee, "It's just family stuff. I have patrol but would it be alright if I came over your’s later? We don't have to talk even. I just... I need somewhere to be that isn't here." He swallowed back whatever emotions were being brought up by the parts of that need he was choosing not to examine right now. 

There was a momentary pause, just a bit too long to be a breath, "Of course man I just... are you sure everythings alright?" 

The car door opened on Tim's left.

"Yeah, hey listen, I gotta run. Sorry for the late call," he hung up before he could get a response. The leather sagged beneath him as Damian settled into his seat, scoffing under his breath as he presumably, Tim wasn’t looking, took in the disgraceful sight of Tim’s knees pressed against the back of the passenger seat. But it’s fine.  _ Totally fine _ . Tim had already decided pretty firmly against entertaining anymore arguments, at least until he figured a way out of babysitting, so he leaned his temple against the cool glass. He could feel his phone buzz a moment later, probably a text from probably Kon. He glanced down.

“ _ wake me up when u get in”  _ typing… typing… a pause, then, typing... Tim bit back a sigh. Kon was worried, if he was deleting and rephrasing that much. “ _ i just wanna touch base ok?” _

God what an asshole move. Now he’s making his friends worry on top of everything else. Maybe Damian was right, and Tim was somehow manipulating his way under the skin of everyone he cared about without even realizing it. What could he even do then? If his existence was psychological cancer? The loose thread he’d been picking at was quickly becoming a small hole on the inside corner of his knee. He decided he didn’t want to think about that right now. 

“ _ ok” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a link to the map of Gotham I'm using as refrence if anyone is interested.  
> https://i1.wp.com/batmangothamcity.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/gotham-city1.jpg

Gotham was not an attractive city. Its soot blackened skyline wound uneven alongside the mouth of the bay. Its buildings, like jagged rotten teeth, jutted out of the gums of the harbor at too severe angles, all brick or brownstone in stark contrast to the shining glass faces of other east coast city skyscrapers. It was the kind of visual that had a smell to it. Like damp stone and mildew, the kind usually reserved for untouched basements or long abandoned department stores where fluorescent light flickers sporadically overhead, and you can still hear water rushing through the old pipes. They were number one in the country for Police corruption, four for environmental damage, and yet still somehow ranked above New York in cost of living. It didn’t help that they were in Jersey either. 

But even so, as he breathed the salt and iron in the chilly mist around him, Tim felt home, and to be honest he needed that right now. It was dirty, and cold, and perpetually overcast, but he could feel himself slot into place here like the final misshapen piece of the puzzle that had been sitting unfinished on his kitchen table for the last month. 

He turned on his infrared and squinted down Dillon Avenue for the fifth time in as many minutes. Damian mirrored him, looking the other direction for as long as either of them could bear before giving up. The newly christened Robin looked up at Tim standing beside him and gave his head a quick jerk southward.  _ Let's move on. _ Tim nodded, and they started off down the length of the Upper East Side.

They were assigned to what Bruce had referred to as a "light crime circuit", and what Jason less subtly called "baby's first patrol route". It was just a loop around Robinson Park, the dead center of Gotham. One block wide; just a straight rectangular path down through the East Side, across the Diamond District, back up across the river and through to the corner of Coventry and Dillon Ave where they started. 

If Tim had to guess, and he didn't have to: he knew, he would guess that their chances of finding anything more than a couple of teens smoking in the park, or  _ maybe _ a mugging though he wouldn't bet on it, were pretty low. Comparable to the chance that the next time he dropped by the manor he'd find Bruce and Jason tap dancing together on the dining room table. 

God. What a sight. His lip twitched up at the thought of those two, still stone faced of course, locking arms and scuffing up the wood in time to some Fred Astaire song. Probably matching outfits too, something sparkly. Bruce would definitely be able to hook them up with some Elton John costumes if he tried. He could just picture it: the sunglasses, the spotlights, the look of abject horror on Alfred’s face as they carved chunks out of the maple. Beautiful. He wondered how hard it would be to recreate in photoshop.

"If we are going to be punished together you might as well take it seriously," He heard Damian's voice over the coms and jogged on until he could finally see him standing, arms crossed, a block ahead. “Finally. Is this a patrol or a late night walk by the park for you Drake?”

Tim rolled his eyes, "Names."

Damian returned the gesture, scoffing, "I don't know if you even _expect_ to be taken seriously, calling yourself after a _burger_ _chain_."

Tim clicked his tongue, cooing like one might to a toddler refusing to settle down for nap time, "Well one day when you're replaced and end up being named 'Bat Burger', we can bond over it." 

In a way, Tim thought, Dick might have been right when he'd told him to stop picking fights.

But how could he when weirdly formal demon children are just so easy to provoke?

"I will not be replaced, thank you. I believe that honor is reserved for those who are either dead or might as well be," His voice was as proud as always and it dug a spike into the void in Tim’s chest, making the emptiness resonate with some deep emotional pain that he didn’t care to think about.

“Wow I was kidding asshole,” He muttered it, loud enough to hear but still mostly to himself, “Fine, let's just get going.”

They lept in unison across rooftops, each kicking up a small splatter of gravel as they landed. 

Ah, Tim thought,  _ revenge _ .

Tim leaned down and grabbed a handful of it as he closed the gap between them. It was almost like they were school children waging a dramatic elementary school war on the playground. Fine. Childish insults, childish reactions. Tim could make that logic work in his head if he tried.

_ Closer… _

_ Almost… _

_ Now! _

He whipped his hand down in a diagonal towards Damian's back, letting fly a spray of gravel like buckshot pellets. The stones left a cloud of dust in their wake, dulling the metallic gleam of the Robin suit. One particularly large dirt chunk sailed across the rooftop, a perfect arc, before colliding audibly with the back of Damian's head. That bit was... perfect, albeit mostly unintentional. Damian froze, leaving Tim skidding to a hasty stop behind him in the wake of the gravel-dust.

_ That had to be at least ten points in the playground war games system. _ If there even were points. 

They stood for a moment: still, save for their breath drifting in the cold November air, until Damian turned around and punched Tim in the face. 

He yelped in surprise, a sound he cringed at even as his eye flared hot with pain, and stumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on his back and elbows. He skidded across the pebbles for an inch or so before he lept back up into a defensive stance, holding the newly blooming bruise underneath his right eye in his hand while glaring at Damian through his domino. 

“What the hell was that?!”

Damian crossed his arms, “You attacked me, and so I retaliated.”

“I threw a handful of tiny rocks at your back! That doesn’t mean you get to black out my fucking eye!” He grimaced as the bruise throbbed beneath his palm. 

“I will defend myself however I please  _ Red Robin _ ,” He spat the name at him with a sour mixture of mockery and malice, “If this is how you plan to convince my father of your worth I suggest you try harder.”

_ don’t let him get to you, Dick said. he’s still figuring things out here, Dick said. he needs our help. _

_ He needs it more than you. _

“God why don’t you just go to hell you self righteous little brat!” Tim threw up his hands; his face stung with cold, “I gave you the benefit of the doubt for three fucking years and you’ve fucked me over at every single turn!” He stepped closer, Damian stepped back reflexively and he was right to take it as a threat, Tim thought, it  _ was _ , “I don’t know what you’ve done to trick everyone else into thinking you’re a normal kid who _ needs our help _ and  _ needs our support _ but fortunately for me you have daned to make me your worst enemy for  _ no goddamn reason, _ so I have front row tickets to every evil little thing you’ve done and I am  _ so  _ **_sick_ ** of it!” 

His hands shook. His throat was raw from screaming in the freezing air. Damian said nothing.

A laugh bubbled up involuntarily from somewhere in the hollow of Tim’s chest, “And now somehow this makes me the asshole. You get to go home to  _ my  _ dad and  _ my  _ brother because they chose you, the little murderer, and that’s  _ not fucking fair _ .” 

They stood in silence for a moment, until Damian blinked at him, shaking his head, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

He turned on his heel, crushing the offending clump of gravel beneath him, and took off again towards the next corner of their rectangular route, leaving Tim no choice but to follow.

_ You fucked up. You fucked it up. Great job genius. Fantastic emotional control. No wonder you dropped out of college.  _

The clocktower was beginning to loom over them in the night as they inched closer to Old Town. A lot of Gotham’s architecture seemed to lend itself to looming. He wondered if Oracle was up there now, watching over the city. It’d been a while since he had sat down and had a talk with Babs. It had been a while since he’d done that with anyone really. Even with Kon his conversations had been painfully short recently. Tim winced as a rough landing sent a pulse of pain through the side of his face, taking a second to glare at Damian’s form sprinting ahead of him. It was his own fault though, the conversations. And the bruise. He knew that. Tim might have told Ra’s how he “has friends” in a dramatic moment of poetic victory, sure, but he could feel it becoming less and less true. And he knew it was his fault. 

A flicker in his infrared suddenly drew his attention away from the ruminating. He touched his com, “ _ Robin, activity under the second harbor bridge, fall back until I get a closer look. I need you to be my eyes.” _

A second, and then:  _ “Understood.” _

Mortal enemies? Perhaps. But at the end of the day, at this, they were professionals above all else. Tim rappelled down a fire escape a block away, trading his vantage point for an ear on the ground. The asphalt was wet with oil sheen puddles that he dodged as he began to snake his way closer through the shadows. 

Damian’s voice started quietly in his ear, “ _ Two men, each armed with a handgun, under the north side of the bridge. Both facing east.” _

Easy. Tim was right behind them. Couldn’t have been simpler. 

“ _ Wait... Red wait, get out of there now. There's more of them, it's a-...!!” _

“Robin!” He turned reflexively, just in time to see Damian slump to the ground on the roof behind him.

_ Shit. _

He whipped his head back to find himself staring down the barrels of both pistols, their handlers flanking him as dozens of suit clad men stepped out of the apartments around them, each drawing their own identical gun, surrounding him like some messed up mosaic of murder.

“Hands up or the Robin gets a bullet between the ears.”

**_Shit._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this could have been better but I really want to post something tonight so I can move on from this beginning part of the story. Sorry if its weirdly paced. 
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for your comments! They really do make the differance so dramatically in my motivation to write. Seriously, thank you so so much. 
> 
> Next chapter should hopefully be out around Monday or Tuesday.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim gritted his teeth, raising his arms in begrudging surrender as he felt the cold metal of another gun press into the small of his back. One of the goons in front of him patted him down quickly, kicking his bo staff and utility belt off across the asphalt. He glanced up to the roof where Damian had been. Empty. A car started somewhere to his left, sending a flinch through the gunman behind him. Tim stiffened as he imagined the nervous man holding a gun to his back, a finger twitching towards the trigger. These guys weren’t professionals, as much as they wanted to appear to be. But they were organized enough to afford an FBI style: matching guns, suits, and sunglasses. Nice suits too. Expensive. Inexperienced criminals on a professional budget. 

The man in front of him, or one of them rather, put his gun down, securing it in a holster on his hip before motioning to the others, “That’s our ride.” He picked up Tim’s utility belt and gave it a glance, peering over his sunglasses to make it out in the dark. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this for a while. We’ll keep it safe for you.” He grinned, tossing it into the river beside him.

_ This is a pickle isn’t it?  _ God he sounded like Dick now. Tim took a measured breath and watched his exhale swirl upwards in the November wind. He could take the two guys focused on him, even without his staff. Probably. But there were at least 15 others he could see, and more with Damian. All armed with at least one handgun. One move and they’d both be swiss cheese. He shifted his weight slightly and the gun pressed harder into his back. No room for error.

“Listen, isn’t there an easier way to get what you want?” He made an effort to sound bored. It wasn’t hard, years of numbing psychological pressure will do that. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you guys seem a bit new at this. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Gunless cocked his head slightly, like a cat eyeing beetle across the room. “What is it you think we want kid? I’m curious.”

Tim’s eyes flicked between the sunglassed faces.  _ No way out. Think genius come on.  _

A smile wormed its way across the man’s face. “We’re here for you. How better to get our... organization on the Gotham map.” He popped the ‘p’ almost comically.

A short laugh burst from Tim’s lips, sending a ripple of stiffened postures through the men around him. “Oh my god, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve met  _ Calendar Man _ .” He forced his body to relax, leaning back slightly on his heels, “Seriously? I can take a business card to Batman if you’re that short on an advertising budget.”

“You think you’re funny?”

Tim barely had time to see the fist before his vision went white with pain. He fell to his knees as his mouth filled with blood, clutching his face and blinking the spots out of his vision. “Agh- shit man!” He spit, his split lip stinging in the cold. The gun pressed to his back was gone now, probably still aloft where he’d just been standing. He balled his hands into fists to stabilize himself on the ground, his knuckles going white as he pressed them in between the rocks.

“Get him into the van. I don’t want to look at him anymore.” 

Tim spat out the blood re-pooling in his mouth, “You’re just itching for an Arkem cell aren’t you?” He grinned up from his knees.

Tightened fists. Another suit from beside them put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Come on Jim, we need him alive.”

‘Jim’ shook his head, tossing his sunglasses to the pavement and crushing them between his dress shoe, “We need  _ one of them _ alive.” He reeled back his leg. Tim closed his eyes and reached to his left.

For a split second, the world went dark and quiet. Then suddenly, all he could feel was pain, throbbing out from the right side of his head. His hand grasped quickly around his bo staff and he leapt to his feet, the world spinning around him.  _ No room for error.  _ He let the staff extend in front of him, knocking two of the gunmen to the ground. He dropped with them as gunshots rang out above his head.  _ Ankles.  _ He narrated his actions, trying to ignore the black spots flooding his vision. Roll. Kick. Swing. More men down. Tim couldn’t tell how many; his vision was swimming; he felt like he was going to be sick.

A noise from his left. A voice. Someone stepped towards him out of the darkness.  _ I’m going to die. _ Tim’s vision blurred, everything was a swirl of pain and color. He took a step back. The figure lurched forward as the world fell out from beneath him and everything became dark and cold and painless.

_ “Wake up.” _

He opened his eyes to stars.  _ Wait… no.  _ A sickening blur of lights. Someone was leaning over him. Someone short.  _ Damian _ . He was dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants… they both were… where were they?

Tim pushed himself up onto his elbows, shivering against the cold concrete and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, “Da-... Where..?” He could see his breath.

Damnian relaxed when he spoke, but frowned, reminiscent once again of his father. Except even in his concussed state Tim saw one thing in Damian’s face he rarely saw in Bruce.  _ Fear. _

“They got us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys for the multiple month delay and for the short chapter. I've been having some real life craziness these days but I should have more time and motivation to write in the coming months. Hopefully.
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you have any thought, getting comments on this throughout my hiatus kept me going like nothing else. Love you guys.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim had kept his eyes closed for the last hour or so, trying simultaneously to gain some semblance or their surroundings and keep his headache at bay. It was cold in their cell somewhere around 40 degrees, and it  _ really  _ wasn’t helping how he felt right now.

“Are you still awake?” Damian was sat across from him. Tim could hear him picking at the gravel on the floor, tossing a small stone at him as he asked.

“Yes.”

Damian let out a small breath, “Good. I don’t want to have to drag you out of here later.” 

“If we get out of here.”

“Tch,” Damian stood up, crushing small bits of gravel and dust between his palms and the concrete, “Of course you’re ready to give up. You’re weak.” He kicked at the wall.

Tim grimaced as the tiny rocks ricocheted off his temple. Damian sat back down. 

_ He really is just a kid. He’s probably terrified right now.  _ God why was it always Dick’s voice in his head, advocating for the terror. A literal devil’s advocate. He wondered if some devil would take him out of his misery sooner rather than later so everyone could get their favorite kid back and their least favorite out of the picture with no extra effort.  _ Two birds one stone.  _ His chest twinged in time with his head throbbing. 

He imagined Damian coming home. Dick and Bruce welcoming him in, Alfred making a vegetarian dinner in the background. Jason was sitting in the living room reading, Dick’s impression still fading from the couch next to him. They’re a happy family. No extra weight dragging them down anymore. Everyone home and happy, finally.

_ “We knew you’d be back,” Bruce smiled, “Never doubted it for a second.” _

_ Damian beamed, looking for once like the child he was, all pride and relief at his father’s praise. _

_ Jason stood and walked into the kitchen ahead of them, “What are we waiting for? Lets eat.” _

_ “We’re not waiting for anyone.” _

“Red… wake up” Damian hissed at him. It almost made Tim laugh, the absurdity of it all. A child-sized Saturday cartoon villain. 

“I’m awake, jesus.” But even as he said it he could feel himself blinking the tiredness out of his eyes, “How long has it been.”

His eyebrows worked together uncertainty, “Forty-five minutes at least. Don’t sleep on a concussion idiot, like you need anymore brain damage.”

“You wish,” Tim was tired. He was  _ exhausted. _ He just wanted to drift off into a gentle goodnight, one he could wake up from or not.

“Open your eyes,” Damian’s voice was harsh.

He didn’t listen, his head hurt less with his eyes closed, “Mhm…” 

His milk was probably going bad in his apartment. Not that it mattered, if he was going to die here. But he always hated that, the smell of apartments abandoned without notice. There were always papers left on the counter, milk in the fridge, sometimes televisions still on: broadcasting the last thoughts of someone’s waking life.

Tim’s tv was definitely off. He hadn’t turned in on in ages. There might still be a DVD in his laptop though. One last little clue into his life. What was he watching? Was it something smart? He hoped so. Despite their intentions people always judged the last state of someone’s home. With his luck Bruce would find some dumb rom-com in his computer, still stuck halfway through. Proof he’d been watching. B would shake his head, disappointed.

_ “I overestimated him.”  _

“ _ Drake, wake up _ .” Damian’s voice cut through his thoughts again, the whisper seeming to echo in the quiet room.

He half-frowned tiredly, “Names.”

“Stay awake then.” 

Tim opened his eyes to the sting of the overhead lights in the hall. Damian was sitting across from him, his knees pulled to his chest to conserve warmth. Tim could see the goosebumps on his forearms. There was a very real possibility one of them was going to die here.  _ They only need one _ . Realistically they only needed Robin, and Tim wasn’t Robin anymore. He could feel that thought in his chest, a mixture of pain and relief. An excuse. 

A door opened somewhere down the hall. From what he could tell their cell was makeshift, the only one of its kind in some sort of warehouse. The musty smell of bay air preceded their visitor’s steps down the hall towards them, turning in Tim’s stomach uncertainly. The steps were close but drifted far past them down a mixture of hallways and open doors. Wherever they were, it was big, alongside the water, and far enough from the rest of civilization that even with the door still open behind him their captor’s footsteps made a lonely walk towards them.

“Who would have thought?” The voice rounded the corner, backlit by flickering fluorescents shining through his stereotypical sunglasses, “Who would have thought two of Gotham’s greatest heroes were just a couple of snot-nosed kids.”

Tim scoffed, “Most people? We didn’t exactly hide it.”

Frown. “Right. You’re just sidekicks. Easy to catch. Easy to kill.”

Damian stood up, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heel with a cocky smirk, “You couldn’t kill us if you tried. You want the  _ Batman _ after you?”

Sunglasses grinned, “That’s exactly what we want.” He punched a code into a keypad alongside the door, letting it swing inwards and stepping in, “Now which one of you kids wants to join me for a field trip?”

Damian glanced quickly from Tim back to the man, an unspoken  _ what’s the plan here _ . 

The problem was: Tim didn’t have a plan. As far as he could tell they were up shit creek without a paddle. They were hostages of some sort, though to what end he couldn’t say. Without their suits or weapons, they were stuck. The ideal course of action, sit tight, try not to die, and wait for someone to come find them. 

_ If anyone was even looking. _

Idiotic thought. Damian was here too. Someone would absolutely look for him.

The man stepped further into their cell giving them both a once over in their opposite corners of the room, “No takers? Come on, we’re having a party for you. It would be rude to turn down an invitation from the boss.”

Damian scoffed, “I’d like to meet your pathetic boss.” His upper lip curled in disgust at the mention, “I could have him on the floor in seconds and we’d be out of this miserable place before you knew it.”

A raised eyebrow, “Oh you think so? Well if you’re volunteering he would be delighted-”

“No.” Tim pushed himself off the ground slowly, the room swaying a bit around him, “I’ll go.”

Their heads snapped to him, Damian’s eyebrows wrung together in confusion, the grotesque smile never leaving Sunglasses’ face, “Well I’m afraid we only have one spare seat at the table tonight. Who’s it going to be?”

Tim gave Damian a hard look. Whatever they were volunteering for, it was going to be bad. That was probably a massive understatement actually. One of them could die. It could be anything. No. It couldn’t be Damian. Bruce, Dick, they couldn’t afford that loss. They could afford Tim’s.

“Me.”

That grim smile spread impossibly wider as a pair of handcuffs materialized in the man’s hands, “Alright then. Hands behind your back Red Robin.”

Tim gritted his teeth and followed the instruction. The cuffs secured his wrists tightly, but not painfully. He could get out of them if the need arose. That was good. Less so was the strip of duct tape that was pressed over his mouth and eyes shortly thereafter making him wince at the pressure on his temple. 

His captor clucked his tongue in mock sympathy, “Sorry kiddo, can’t be too careful.” Before leading him out of the cell and into the somehow colder hallway.

“Hey!” Damian called from behind, “Where are you taking him?!”

There was another false sympathetic noise, “Don’t worry pipsqueak, you’ll see him again soon enough.” And with that the cell door closed behind them. 

They walked for a while in the warehouse, Tim’s bare feet stinging from the cold cement, before he stumbled out onto what was definitely dockwood. The air was cold and wet and smelled of salty trash in a way that always screamed Gotham. He couldn’t hear any people, which dashed his hopes of catching someone’s attention outside. Although to be honest it was a bit of a longshot of a hope to begin with. He was led alongside the water for a while, long enough that he was a bit concerned that they were just going to toss him into the harbor and be done with him.  _ That would be too easy though. The sweet release of death _ . Tim pushed back against that thought. Kon hated when he said stuff like that. 

Still, he had almost convinced himself of his looming drowning so much so that he flinched in surprise when he was pushed over the threshold into a… carpeted room? He was pushed down into a chair, his hands shoved uncomfortably beneath him, which was then pushed up against what felt like a meeting table?  _ What on earth were these idiots doing with him? _

Someone dug their fingernails between the duct tape and his domino, ripping it off with a painful flourish that drew a hiss of air from between Tim's gritted teeth.  _ At least after all this was over he'd be well exfoliated _ , he thought, squinting at the newly revealed fluorescent lights that flickered above him. 

Despite what some (Damian) might say, Tim was just as much a bat as the rest of them, maybe even more sometimes, so he'd scanned the room and taken stock without even thinking. But to be honest, if he hadn't just stepped out of the freezing wet air that could only be found by the skeezy warehouses of Gotham's piers, he would have guessed he was in some interior conference room downtown. The walls were average beige plaster, though the thin cracks betrayed the inflexible cinderblock walls that were probably concealed behind, keeping out the sound and smell of the bay water. A full water cooler, the kind that bubbled when you filled your weird office paper cone, was sitting next to him in place of one of the chairs. Something about the liquid was... wrong somehow. Tim silently cursed himself for not knowing. The viscosity was off, or something like that. It definitely wasn't water. He made a mental note to read up on identifying clear liquids visually once they were out of here. 

Of course, dumb and dumber stood on either side of him, one of them still folding the used duct tape into a messy square, and there across from Tim on the far side of the conferance table was a man in a suit, a different suit. Nicer. Presumably whoever was behind this, preparing to give his lame "I suppose you're wondering what I brought you here for " speach or something like that. 

"So, the famous Red Robin," the man started, looking up from a file on his lap, "or maybe not all that famous I'm afraid. But I'll take what I can get. I suppose you're wondering why I've set up this lovely meeting space for the two of us."

Bingo. Or close enough. Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Don't you have anything more original?"

“I think I do.” The man smiled in a way that sent waves of unease through Tim’s throat, “Why don’t you have something to drink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter because I kept you all waiting for so long for the last one. Also bless everyone you left such nice comments on that last chapter you absolutely make my days. Hearing that this story is worthy of people actually being excited for updates is so amazing I can't even put it into words.  
> I can't promise when the next chapter will be posted but I'm back on a writing kick this week so hopefully soon! Thank you all so much for your love and support, you all mean the world to me.


	5. not a chapter, deleting story

Apologies for the formatting, this update is from my phone.

In response to some recent comments I've chosen to take this fic down. I'm going to leave this chapter up for a few days before I remove the story so those following it can read this.

I write mostly as an outlet for some mental health issues I've been struggling with for the last few years. I have bipolar disorder and a depressive episode recently sent me to the hospital, and I really found solice in a lot of Tim fix-it fics. 

I really was trying to make it balenced by focusing on Tim's deliberately warped perspective and insecurities, but it aplears to have come off as an attack on Damian. 

The benefit I personally get from posting here is, admittedly selfishly, largely based on comments. Its validating when people enjoy the things you make. But I don't want to have a negative impact on other people's lives.

I think I'm just rambling at this point so I'm going to wrap this up. I'm sorry you've all been strung along. 

I'm moving back home with my parents from across the country over the next few days, so I won't be back online except on my phone. I'm probably going to wait until I have access to my computer to remove this.

Sorry again anyone. Thank you all for your kindness and patience.


	6. An Update, and a Thank You

Holy shit.

So first off, a bit of a life update. I moved back home from where I'd been living in Texas at the beginning of the month so I've been pretty busy just with that and getting my life back in order with work and school and whatnot. I left my computer charger at my old apartment and finally gave up on my roomate mailing it to me and just bought a new one yesterday so I've finally had time to sit down and read the dozens of comments you guys left after that last update. And I'm speechless. I expected one or two people to comment on it but I am blown away at the volume of support that I have gotten from you all and I really don't know what to say.

I suppose at the very very least: Thank you. 

Thank you all so much for the comments and messages and everything you've said, I really really can't express how much it means to me not only that you liked the fic and wanted it to continue but that so many people took the time to write out long and thoughtful comments as to why, and sending love my way. 'm not exaggerating, I literally cried reading some of these. 

I know maybe I take this stuff to seriously, and looking back it was absolutly immature to let a few hate comments get to me so thoroughly. I want to apologize for this weird drama rollarcoaster I've dragged you all along, but again, I cannot express enough how much all your comments mean to me. 

Having taken a bit of a break to clear my head, and now having read everything you all have had to say I am going to continue this and remove both this and the previous non-chapter in a few days (or whenever I have the actual chapter 5 written). I know it's all just Batman fanfiction, and it's not a big deal like, at all, but thank you again so so much for revitalizing this outlet for me. I hope that what I write is worthy of all the support. I'm going to try my very hardest to make sure that it is.

The positive effect you have had on me these last couple of days is indescribable. I really cannnot say enough: thank you.

Katie


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